


Want

by MissMarionette



Series: Sorry to Bother You, But My Heart is Breaking (Solas x Lavellan) [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexuality, F/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sexual Fantasy, Shyness, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22724662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarionette/pseuds/MissMarionette
Summary: It had been so long, then, since he felt this burning so keenly. It was not disciplined enthusiasm that blotted soft spots of contentment behind his eyes. It was a passion that required him to think a second longer than usual before acting, a want that assaulted his Self rather than who he was. Yes, he wanted. For the first time in what felt like a blink-turned-eternity, he wanted. Selfishly, obsessively, desperately.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: Sorry to Bother You, But My Heart is Breaking (Solas x Lavellan) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1183034
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alexis_Trvlyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Trvlyn/gifts).



> For Alexis_Trvlyn, who is really one of the only reasons I post anything at all.
> 
> X-Posted from my Tumblr for scharoux's 14 DA Lovers Challenge, #14DALovers.

_There is nothing you will ever owe me, Tallin. Your pleasure will always be my currency of choice_. _Whatever form that may take I will happily grant if it is within my capacity to do so._

Committing his spirit to the Fade while his body rested had made pursuits of a tactile nature moot. He had been an entity without touch or taste or smell, a wandering idea which time could not weather. Sex in dreams was only satisfying if there was a body to feel it on the physical plane, and he had all but severed the barest link to his own to best preserve it as it rested.

It had been so long, then, since he felt this burning so keenly. It was not disciplined enthusiasm that blotted soft spots of contentment behind his eyes. It was a passion that required him to think a second longer than usual before acting, a want that assaulted his Self rather than who he was.

Yes, he wanted. For the first time in what felt like a blink-turned-eternity, he wanted. Selfishly, obsessively, desperately.

He wanted to take this innocent girl and melt her down, not break her. Ice into water, not glass into shards. Melt her until she understood that everything she felt for him was okay. Everything felt good because it _was_ good. She was good. She was so good – for him, for herself, for those she tried so hard not to disappoint – and nothing she could say or do would ever change that.

He wanted to lay her down on the bed and slowly work off all her clothes, meet her shy eyes and assure her _it is okay, this is okay, do not fear_.

He wanted to behold her as she was in her entirety, admire the fine muscles and slight sculpt of a quiet, accomplished huntress. She is comprised of uniform planes and, some would say, sexless slopes. Indeed, save for the slightest budding of her chest and the lack of the obvious between her legs, she would pass for a male peer from the neck down despite her two-and-twenty years of age. She is self-conscious about this, understandably but irrelevantly so. She is perfect. She is the essence of spirits.

He wanted to kiss her, intrude upon her mouth with a suddenness that’d surely make her gasp in surprise and have her hands reach up to grip his tunic. She craved this touch as much as he, he knew she did, yet she deprived herself of it out of that ever-present modesty. 

He wanted to suck on her pulse, hard, so he could feel the blood thudding madly in her throat, so he could hear the trace of a soft moan leave that normally-uncertain mouth. It was all about making a _convincing argument_ with her, one that promised great rewards for her involvement, one that promised, vowed, swore nothing untoward would be done. This was all in her hands. Anything beyond a kiss and a clothed embrace was a luxury she was at right to grant and rescind on a whim. 

_How do you feel, ‘ma’lath? How are you faring? Tell me, I wish to know._

Her nipples, too, he wanted to suck. Gently, though, because she once expressed reservations of his teeth, so instead they would be held between his lips and laved at with the tip of his tongue as the other was stroked with a casual lightly-calloused thumb.

He wanted to conclude with a kiss planted in the very center of her chest, a stamp of love that pressed hot skin between his lips and the hardness of her breastbone, the beginning of the journey he would proceed to make along the invisible line that ran from chin to navel. She would shiver. He would try his best to hold back an amused smirk.

He wanted to rest his cheek against the warm plane of her stomach because he needed a moment to calm the worrying pulse between his eyes and the ache radiating in his groin. This was not about him. It was never about him, and he wished to keep it that way.

He wanted to coax her legs apart, smile in reassurance at the boiling-red blush that washed over her at the idea. He has touched her here, has slipped his hand beneath the band of her breeches to help drive away the burning ache that he suspects assaults her more frequently than he, but he has never _seen_ it. She acted much like a Chantry sister in that regard. Such privacy over the body was never a cultural point of Dalish culture that he knew of. Regardless, he has respected her proclivities thus far.

He wanted to commit it to memory--the slender folds reminiscent of a small orchid, the smell of her that arose as cloying earthy perfume and made his mouth unashamedly water. 

He wanted to hear that sharp intake of breath when he planted his pacifying kisses on her hesitantly parted inner thighs before reaching down to rub tingling circles over the little pink nub.

He wanted to go slow and steady, waiting patiently for when her breathing deepened and her honey had begun to wetly gloss the swollen petals of her sex before sliding a finger inside.

He wanted to revel in how she gripped the sheets and bit her lip to avoid making any unbecoming sounds only to fail miserably, adorably.

He wanted to curl them up and press gently, gently ( _gently because she does not need much no she doesn’t)_ against that special place and watch her shudder, watch her sink her shoulders deeper into the bed and her eyes close and her small adam’s apple bob in her throat as she managed a desperate swallow.

He wanted to whisper his praise for her bravery thus far as his palm arrived and departed from her mound in an unhurried time signature, 1-2-3-4. _You are doing so well for me, Tallin. So well._

He wanted to remind her how beautiful she was in mind and body. _Beautiful girl. Beautiful, sweet girl. You haven’t a clue just how happy you make me._

He wanted her to know that she honored him with this trust. _I can never repay you for this. Your generosity shames this unworthy man._

He wanted to solidify these thoughts, truly, and so if she happened to blindly reach down for his other hand, he would meet it in a heartbeat. 

He wanted to feel her clamp down on his slowly-pumping fingers like a vise, find himself shuddering with near-giddiness as he felt her quim suck on them shamelessly (because there was no shame in what they did, there was none, _none at all, my love._ )

He wanted to hear her whimper when he pulled them out just before she reached her end, take in how she writhed as he rubbed her clit with a drenched finger before drawing it close and breathing in the heady scent of her. Her. Her.

He wanted to sit back on his heels for a brief moment and make a show of slipping it into his mouth, just so he would have the rare opportunity of witnessing her face contort in embarrassment and lustful wonder as he sucked her essence from it. _Hmm,_ _d_ _elicious. Dare I say..sweet. But I should not be surprised that it embodies the same nature as its source._

_N-No, mnn..d-don't s-say that--!_

He wanted to smile at this brief tantrum borne of her natural sheepishness. A genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. ' _T_ _is_ _the simple truth, my love. I would not lie about something so serious._

He wanted to lay himself down between her legs before she could sputter out a reply, face barely three inches from her wet, awaiting sex. _Now, sweet girl, what do you say to me proving my claim even more true?_

He wanted her to prop herself up on her elbows in uncertainty and wide-eyed alarm. _W-Wha–_ Only to stop when he gave her with a _look_ reminiscent of a wolf encountering a defenseless traveler in the woods.

He wanted to find reflected in her eyes that harrowing realization that the future has suddenly become frighteningly uncertain.

He wanted to drive the comparison home by making a show of inhaling this deep-set musk that hung in the space between her damp thighs with the same tenacity as temple incense. 

He wanted to just as quickly dismiss that apprehension he could feel settle beneath her skin by casting his eyes down in deference. _I will be gentle, my love._ And gift her a soft kiss against her little shield. 

He wanted her to gasp and fall back as surrender fed itself through her veins at the touch.

He wanted to tasteher, truly _taste_ her.

He wanted to start slowly so as not to overwhelm. More kissing than licking, more caressing her with his lips than using them to suck.

He wanted to, though. And he would eventually. When the time came, he'd give to her what he knew she’d come to love, even if she’d never admit it in so many words. Her clit held between his lips as if it were her nipple, played with in a similar fashion. No teeth, no force. Simply encouragement and support and bliss.

He wanted to reintroduce his fingers midway through when her rocking hips began to crave something she couldn’t properly convey. Slide them in much more easily this time and begin to pump with a swiftly increasing speed and savor the wet sounds that resulted from his efforts.

He wanted to hear those encouragements that’d surely fall from her slack mouth like stones of a decrepit castle hurtling off a cliff. _Mnn, mnn, mnn!_ _G-Good, g-g-good..! Pl-Please, pl-please, pl-please, d-don’t stop, pl-please!._

He wanted to assure her that he wouldn't: _Shh, n_ _ever. I would never be so cruel. Not with this. Not to my beloved heart. You shall not be left wanting._

_S-Solas, S-Solas, I’m, it’s–_

He wanted her to come. _Garas, da’len._

He wanted her to cry out his name when she did.

He wanted her to shed tears, even. Happy tears. Relieved tears. Blissful tears. 

He wanted to squeeze back when her hand tightened as she wailed at the brief loss of sanity.

He wanted to exercise the tiniest bit of cheekiness and continue with his ministrations even as her inner walls spasmed against his digits in a rhythm reminiscent of a heartbeat, even as her clit twitched in a similar fashion against his lips, even as her honey dribbled copiously down his chin like syrup from a maple tree. 

He wanted to pull back only when a sweaty palm has pushed desperately against his forehead in an attempt to get him to cease with his torture.

He wanted to give the Inquisitor a sheepish smile and whisper his apologies-and-thanks, and kiss the swollen pearl with the intent to soothe the screaming nerves before reluctantly rising from his place between her legs, all the while working his tongue to paint the taste of her on the back of his teeth.

He wanted to take a moment to drink in the sight of her, the sweaty, boneless creature whose face was plastered with damp hair, whose eyes were closed in an effort to focus on controlling her heavy breathing, whose skin was tinted a light pink, whose body was still twitching intermittently with lingering zings of pleasure.

He wanted to kiss her knees before quietly closing them in order to avoid the unnecessary embarrassment she’d feel at remaining splayed open as she was.

He wanted to clean them both up with a readily available rag and help her put on some clothes to lounge in, lengthening the process even more with the kisses he could not help but shower her with like spring rain.

He wanted to lay himself down beside her on the bed and pull her close and whisper how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. Loved her. _Loved_ her in a way no word in any language living or dead could properly convey.

He wanted her to say it, though, in that shy stutter he found charming for its puerility: _A-Ar l-l-lath._

He wanted to respond in kind: _Lathan na. Bellanaris._ Because he had to make do, and “eternity” was the closest approximation he had.

Solas opened his eyes and sighed quietly, grimacing when the nature of his whereabouts came rushing back to him. He was in the Inquisitor's chambers, in her bed, supposedly finishing some necessary reading before retiring. The book lay open in his lap. Tallin slept on beside him, curled up snuggly and nibbling on the knuckle of her pointer finger with an expression of calm contentment that eluded her in the waking hours. In the mixture of lamp oil light and darkness, the Mark shimmered in her closed palm with every heavy breath she took.

He rolled his neck, noting with some discomfort how the ornate carving of the headboard dug into his back. After placing the book on the bedside table, he ran a hand over his face. He had indulged in another fantasy again. It was becoming a bit worrying how often and recurring they were as of late, and how inappropriate it was that he allowed himself to indulge when the subject was sleeping unbeknownst next to him. He told himself he possessed the common courtesy to restrict them to his private moments. Apparently he had overestimated his self-control.

At the very least, the blanket proved sufficient cover for the erection that currently strained against his stomach beneath the linen nightshirt he wore. Solas reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind the Inquisitor's ear, allowing himself a small smile when the pointed tip twitched in reminiscence of a child's. Small mercies.

He turned in place and waved his hand beneath the oil lamp sconce bracketed against the wall above them. The flames were promptly snuffed out. As punishment, he remained sitting there in the darkness and forced himself to ruminate on the abject fear that would meet him were he to seek her out for such fulfillment, of the revulsion and mistrust and confused panic upon seeing how hungrier spirits would absorb and reflect his baser needs to manifest in the Fade for one moment..

His efforts proved fruitful. The heat died and slackened. Without much fanfare he settled into bed, turning to face his love. He let out another sigh and tried to will himself to sleep. He couldn't.

He reached over.

_He was shameless._

Tallin stirred as he pulled them closer together. "Wh-Whu--?" was heard muffled against his chest.

"Shh, it's only me, _da'len_ ," he murmured into her hair. It smelled of the wintery crispness of the mountains. " _Ir abelas_. I'm sorry for waking you. Go--" But she had already nestled herself against him like she was a nugling and he her mother. "--back to sleep." he finished with a soft chuckle. He hummed to himself, nuzzled and squeezed her. "You sweet thing.."

" _Ahrm'lahmf.._ "

He hummed again, this time in affirmation as he rubbed her back. " _Lathan na. Bellanaris._ " Moments later, he allowed his eyes to slowly fall closed. This was enough. This was truly more than enough. " _Bellanaris.._ "


End file.
